


A Fine Line

by id say I am sorry (idBeLying)



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Iron Man (Comic)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Asylum, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Did not do the Research, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idBeLying/pseuds/id%20say%20I%20am%20sorry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is trying to cope with coming home from a war, if 'home' is really what he can call the world he woke up to.  Tony Stark is a man who'd been on the cutting edge of technology, but that was before he lost touch with reality.  </p><p>But each might be the other's best shot at getting to the bottom of a plague of experimental weapons cropping up all over New York.  Can Steve really trust a madman?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is set in the canon universe and diverges at some point after Steve is frozen and before ToS 39. 
> 
> Also, because I don't want to write a badly researched vintage story, I'm taking advantage of the telescoping timeline to bump everything up to about the present day at the time Steve is recovered from the arctic.

The stench is the worst thing. It brings everything back.

There’s smoke in the air. There’s gunpower, blood, and something else. It’s something sticky sweet, something that makes men’s hollow stomachs growl with want and anticipation until the realization hits. Someone’s burning, people are burning, people who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. They’re screaming, too, voices fading in and out as explosions deafen, until all there is to hear is a silence so at odds with the violence it sounds like a roar.

The smoke gets thicker, and tears and sweat wipe out whatever visibility remains. There’s nothing but the stench and the fear and the absolute knowledge that someone is dying who didn’t deserve to die because he wasn't fast enough.

 

 

Steve woke gagging, throwing the sheets off his body. He took deep breaths of air he _knew_ was clean and squeezed his eyes shut against the salty sting of sweat running into them. He was drenched.

His stomach settled, despite the fact the phantom smell still plagued him. If he hadn’t learned to live with that smell, he wouldn’t have been much good on the battlefield. He wiped at his face, blinking away the blurriness, and looked at the clock. 2:33 AM. He’d been asleep just over two hours.

Steve rolled out of bed and reached down to pick up his shield, letting its familiar weight anchor him. Drying plaster on the opposing wall reminded him of the lesson he'd learned about keeping his shield within reach when he was sleeping. Now he ran his thumb over the new leather straps and waited for the adrenaline spike to pass, unfocused eyes pointed towards his window. The view offered him nothing but the brickwork of the opposing building to ground him. He could almost believe is was back in 1945.

Even with his enhanced endurance, his eyes burned with exhaustion. How many nights had it been since he had managed to sleep more than a couple hours at a stretch? He’d gone days, weeks with little to no sleep during the war, pushing himself as far as his enhanced stamina would go. But somehow, this was worse. He was not so tired in body and mind he couldn’t think anymore, he was the opposite; he was completely wound up and aching from the strain of it.

There was a sound, and Steve jumped, his hand pulling back, shield ready to throw as he whipped around. But it was just the phone, the strange artificial ring that it made a sound Steve hadn’t gotten used to yet. It was funny the small things he missed, like when phone’s ringer had actually been a bell.

“Awake?” The voice on the other end of the line -- no, there were no lines any more, everything was ‘wireless’ -- was Wasp’s.

Steve frowned, automatically scanning outside his window for an observer. She had sounded sure of herself. “How did you know?” Of course there was nothing outside but the same brick. Glancing down, the alley below was as still and empty.

“Good guess,” she said, when obviously it was more than that.

“Why did you call?” This was the first time Wasp had actually called him since she and her scientist friend had left him in this apartment they had been kind enough to help him find. Apparently, once the novelty of discovering him in the arctic had worn off, they’d had better things to do. Not that Steve could blame them, and not that he minded the end of the tests Giant Man, who'd by that point introduced himself as a biochemist named Hank Pym, wanted to run on him. Once Steve's identity became confirmed, his blood became top secret and off limits to an independent scientist like Pym.

“I was hoping you could give us a hand.”

“Me?” Steve didn’t know what he had to offer to anyone any more.

“Us superhero types have to stick together. You're one of us.”

Steve wasn’t so sure about that. He’d read a little about the costumed heroes that had apparently been popping up in New York over the last few years, people like Wasp and Giant Man, and it hadn’t been particularly flattering. They had their hearts in the right place, but if half the things the Bugle printed were true, he wasn’t sure that was enough.

But it really was very hard to say no to Wasp. It wasn’t like he had ever been very good at sitting on his hands. "Alright. What do you need?"

"Get in your gear," she said. Then she gave him an address. "I'll explain when you get here!"

Before Steve could protest, Wasp had hung up. Sighing, Steve went to go get dressed.

 

\---

 

"What took you?" asked Wasp as soon as Steve showed up after an hour delay to what turned out to be an abandoned warehouse. There were unconscious men in yellow hooded suits sprawled out all over the floor. At least, Steve hoped they were unconscious.

"I ran into a little trouble." Steve glanced at the still men on the floor. It looked like Wasp had run into a lot of trouble. "... Am I too late to help?"

Jan looked puzzled briefly. "No, why would you think... Oh, these guys!" Her smile was surprisingly bright, though her eyes were red rimmed. "These guys were no big deal. What trouble did you run into? Another fight broke out, didn't it?”

"Something like that," Steve said. New York was the city that never slept, but the streets had been busier than usual for this hour. On the way he'd broken up a brawl and stopped it from escalating into a shooting. He had been held up waiting for the police to show up so they could finish sorting out the mess. “How did you guess?” Wasp was making a lot of good guesses.

Wasp looked almost sheepish. "I should have warned you. It's been happening all over this neighborhood--"

Giant man, at the moment the size of a normal man, poked his head around a support beam, dark smudges under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t been getting much better sleep than Steve had.

"What are you doing here?" Pym asked irritably.

Steve looked to Wasp, surprised Pym didn't know. Wasp waved Pym off.

"Get back to the mad science machine, I'm going to get Cap all caught up."

Pym cast Steve a stormy look but disappeared back in the direction he'd come.

Steve looked to Wasp for some kind of explanation, but she just grabbed his arm and dragged him away. “Come on.”

He let Wasp lead him up a rickety set of stairs to an old catwalk. From there he could see what Pym was working on, though Steve couldn’t make head or tails of it. It was obviously a machine; Pym had its guts half spilled out onto the floor in a tangle of wires and circuitry. Despite being half deconstructed, the machine glowed menacingly. Steve was going to go out on a limb and guess that was bad.

“So why’d you call me? This?” Steve asked, feeling disappointed. He hated to admit it, but he was hoping for something a little more hands on. A lot had changed in the years he’d lost, but he still had his training. It was all he had, really. Sitting idle was just about the hardest thing Steve had ever had to do, but with no war, what else was there for him? He certainly couldn’t make heads or tails of whatever Wasp was trying to show him.

“Yes,” Wasp said, and Steve’s heart sank lower. “Hank’s working on it …” She shook her head. "He’s a genius, but he's run into a little snag, and things are getting worse fast. The effect is spreading.”  
"Back up a pace. What effect?"

"It's some kind of nightmare machine," Wasp said, and Steve found himself all ears. "That’s what’s been causing all the fights and accidents. Turns out when you wind up and terrorize sleep deprived people, things get messy. It took us over a week to figure out the cause and pinpoint the machine.”

Was it possible the source of all Steve’s recent trouble was sitting right there in the room with them? It was almost too much to hope for. The prospect of a decent night sleep almost made Steve weak in the knees. Just being able to close his eyes without seeing another bloody battlefield or worse would suit him just fine. “Why don’t you just dismantle it? It looks like you’re already halfway there.”

Wasp shook her head. “There’s some kind of detonator. There’s nothing Hank recognizes as a bomb in that hunk of junk, but that doesn’t mean something terrible won’t happen if we trigger it. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Steve nodded, but the news only left him more confused. “So what did you call me for? I’m no ordinance expert.”

Wasp smiled again. “Maybe not, but you still have your top secret clearance with the army, don’t you?”

Steve wasn’t sure he liked where this was heading. “Technically, yes, but--”

“Perfect!” She clapped her hands together. “Look, this might sound crazy -- okay, it is a little crazy. A few years back, I knew a guy, and this thing is right up his alley. Nothing against Hank, he’s as brilliant as they come, but he hasn’t been getting better sleep than anyone else, and diabolical weapons tech is _not_ his specialty.”

Steve was starting to suspect Hank wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. “What does this have to do with my security clearance?”

“Well... here’s where the crazy part comes in,” Wasp said, her smile faltering slightly. “See, this guy was a genius, too. _Is_ a genius Worked with the military before he was even 18. But it turns out he was just a little bit on the wrong side of sane, and he was institutionalized.”

“Institutionalized.” Steve repeated, just to make sure he was hearing correctly. “In an insane asylum?”

Wasp nodded. “Because of the government work he’s done, only people with high security clearances can even talk to him. But we _need_ him on this one, Steve. I know he’s crazy, but he’s a crazy genius. A crazy _weapons_ genius.”

There wasn’t one bit of this plan Steve liked. “He’s _crazy._ ”

Wasp gave him a tentative smile. “You know what they say, Cap. There’s a fine line between genius and insanity.”

“I don’t even know who this person is,” Steve said, unmoved. “And you want me to check him out of the asylum, and let him work on the weapon built by --” He nearly bit his tongue holding back the word ‘mad men’. “... by a bunch of criminals.” He shook his head. “I’m not a doctor or a mechanic. I can’t be responsible for a lunatic working on dangerous machinery.”

Wasp’s look turned sharp. “Well _I_ know him, and I’m not asking you, I’m _telling_ you we need him before something more serious than a few street fights breaks out!”

She glared at him a moment longer before letting out a breath, her whole body seeming to wilt in from of him. He was struck by how weary she looked. He wasn’t the only one clinging to the end of his rope.

“...you’re sure he won’t make things worse?” Steve asked.

Wasp laughed once. “I know it sounds... crazy. I never really knew him that well. But I know he can do this.”

She looked back down at Pym, who seemed to be arranging pieces in an order Steve couldn’t fathom. “Hank’s smart enough, but with the pressure and sleepless nights...” She frowned and turned back to Steve. “We need to get this taken care of fast.”

Steve nodded. There was no question there. But he felt like she wasn't telling him something.

“It’s not all bad news.” Wasp smiled again. “The hospital is outside of the machine’s reach -- for now, at least. So maybe you can grab a nap on your way. Because, if you don’t mind me saying so, you look beat, Cap.”

Steve managed a wry smile of his own. Though he didn’t remember ever actually coming out and agreeing to this plan, he knew he was on board. “So,” he said. “I’m going to need that name.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Stark. Meds.”

The shadow one of the larger orderlies fell over him. He already had his baton out. Tony had been less than cooperative this morning, and he was going to be less than cooperative now. Farrow, the nurse, shook the little paper cup of pills at him, and Tony didn’t make a move to get up.

“ _Meds_ ,” the orderly, Johnson, said sharply, and it took every ounce of Tony’s frayed self control not to jump. Still he cringed when he was hauled up by the back of his shift. The room spun, the morning’s dose not quite worn away. Or maybe he’d been concussed. It was hard for him to keep the days straight sometimes.

“Open up,” Farrow said, thrusting the paper cut at him. Tony’s first instinct was to knock it aside, but his limbs were heavy and that made them slow. His wrist was caught easily by Johnson, and his arm was twisted behind him.

Johnson’s fingers dug into the tendons in his wrist until Tony let out a yelp of pain before easing his grip. “Open _up_.”

There was warning pressure on his wrist, and Tony obeyed. The pills were dumped on his tongue. Water followed so quickly Tony nearly choked. Before he could sputter, Johnson's hand closed over his mouth and pinched off his air. Tony swallowed in order to breathe, and he was released.

"Show me," Farrow ordered, bored. They’d done this ritual often enough.

Tony opened his mouth and lifted his tongue.

"Cheeks too," Johnson ordered from behind him, knowing him far too well. Tony ran his tongue between his teeth and his cheeks to prove there were no pills hidden there.

He was let go abruptly, and Tony's legs buckled. He landed hard in his hip, biting back a curse as pain shot up his spine. Farrow turned, unconcerned, to finish up her rounds. Johnson winked at him from the doorway before he closed it. Tony felt his stomach turn, and he didn't fight it.

He went to the sink, pulling himself up just in time to spit up bile and two of the pills he'd just taken. It was better than taking the full dose. He braced himself there, panting.

It was hard to believe what his life had become. Three years ago, there had been literally nothing that was out of his grasp. He was genius already at the top of his field, the son of a rich industrialist, born with every silver spoon it was possible to have in his mouth.

Now he was locked up in a cell smaller than the most modest closet they had back at his family’s house, washing puke from the pills he’d just thrown up into the sink. He didn’t get many opportunities to trade thanks to his isolation from the other patients, but he had to hoard what currency he had for when that rare opportunity arose.

He limped toward his hiding place, removing loose tile and depositing his pills in the hole he’d dug beneath. Nearby, he heard howling. Another one of the patients, possibly set off by Johnson. Tony couldn’t really blame them, even if the noise was an added torment.

He crawled towards the corner opposite the door. It didn’t do his aches and bruises any favors, but it was safer on the floor when the drugs hit him. He was never sure what he was being slipped, what was in the pills he hadn’t managed to void.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the screaming from down the hall, trying not to think what was happening -- real or imagined -- to make that person make those tortured sounds. He only had so much time of relative lucidity to retreat into his thoughts, to escape this hell hole and remember what it was like to use his mind.

It killed him to know that he’d never test any of the problems he solved in his head, see if the schematics he drew in his mind would work the way he imagined, to know that out there technology continued to march forward while in here he’d be lucky to be let near a TV that was over 10 years old. All the potential he’d had, all the limitless possibilities he’d seen and imagined were nothing now. Nothing but a daydream, a fantasy to keep him from truly going mad in this place, assuming he wasn’t already and didn’t realize it.

He didn’t know how long he managed to hold on to the new targeting algorithm he’d been developing before his thoughts started slipping away, running through his fingers like water and leaving him nothing to hold onto. He kept his eyes shut, trying not to panic as he could feel himself being separated from his intellect by a fog.

It was temporary. It would pass. Sometimes it took longer than other times, but it always passed.

He felt a prickling at the back of his neck. His skin had gone clammy, beads of moisture gathering on his forehead, his collarbone, sliding down his skin and making it tingle. He scrubbed it away with the back of his hand, but the feeling lingered.His heart rate started to climb, beating uncomfortably hard in his chest.

The screaming from the other room hadn’t stopped and it was setting him on edge. He kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut and put his hands over his ears. Equations and schematics might be beyond him now, but there were other places his mind could go. Memories of what it had been like, before, when his world was larger than four white walls that smelled of fear and disinfectant: the way silk felt against his skin, the smell of motor oil when he worked in the garage, the sound of the waves crashing against the surf at their house in in Hawaii, all the things he wanted to hold on to about being human and was afraid of forgetting.

But it didn’t work for long. Silk on his skin turned to the skittering of a hundred different insects, the smell of oil turning rancid. His eyes opened, and the white walls were gone. He was still in the dark, in a hole deep in the Earth with the dirt falling in, forgotten, as if he’d never existed. The sound of the waves tuned to screaming again, but a new voice had joined the cries from down the hall, his.

 

\---

 

“Tony, you’re intelligent,” Dr. Harrison said while Tony took the opportunity to stare out the window in his office and gazed at the world outside. It was autumn, and the leaves were falling from the trees. Tony missed the seasons. He longed to feel the bite of cold and the smell the leaves crushed on wet asphalt.  

Who knew he could ever miss the scent of rotting vegetation? But anything had to be better than the chemical smell that permeated the air, barely concealing the scent of sick humanity beneath it.

“I know you understand what a delusion is,” Harrison droned on.

Since it wasn’t a question, Tony didn’t answer.

“Won’t you consider the possibility this conspiracy against you is a delusion?”

Of course Tony had entertained the idea. Several times.  He just dismissed it given the evidence.

“Tony?”

Tony glanced at Harrison. He was an element Tony was never quite able to place. He seemed genuine, unlike many of the other employees in this place. But if he was honestly trying to help, why couldn’t he identify the fact Tony’s symptoms were entirely inconsistent? That they were artificially induced by drugs he was being given?

Why couldn’t he see any of the clues right in front of his eyes?

“The only way the medication can help you understand why you’re here is if you take it,” Harrison told him, speaking as if Tony were a child. Tony went back to watching the window, as it was a better use of his time.

Harrison sighed. “Talk to me. At least tell me why you were screaming.”

There wasn’t screaming here. It was quiet. Tony wished he was sharp enough to start working on his designs again, but he’d been given something to keep him calm for his therapy session. His thoughts were still too slippery.

“Were you afraid of something?”

Tony shifted before he could stop himself. The drugs made it hard for him to control his tells.

While Tony dismissed the idea he was delusional, but it became harder and harder every time. It didn't sit well with him. Who could orchestrate his hospitalization? How could no one recognize a sane man among the insane? How could no one notice?

How could he have been so vulnerable and never known it?

The most troubling thing was his very doubts fit the line Harrison was trying to sell him. Before medication, of course he’d be paranoid, convinced he was sane when really he was in the grip of powerful delusions. And once they starting medicating him, starting honing in on something that would work, his delusion would begin to lose its hold on him. What he considered to be his most lucid moments, either when the doses started to wear off or when he’d successfully managed to avoid them, would be when his delusions were the strongest.

But Tony wasn’t convinced. Not yet. If he was at his most lucid when drugged, why was it only then that he was plagued with hallucinations?

_Side effects_ , one part of his mind whispered, a part that Tony was determined to ignore.

“Fear is something that we can work to control."

The idea that his mind really had turned against itself was horrifying. Even if his intellect wasn’t the only thing he had, it was the only thing that mattered to him. And he couldn't trust his own thoughts, what could he trust?

Maybe all his father's suspicion and disappointment was justified. Something had been broken inside Tony from the beginning, something his father had sensed straight away. He was weak, feeble. His father had been right to hide him away as an embarrassment.

Either way, sane or not, his father died ashamed of him.

“I know it’s hard for you to trust me, Tony, but I need you to try. I want to help you.”

“I won’t trust you until you see what's happening right in front of your eyes,” Tony whispered, his voice ruined with hours of screaming.

As much as Tony’s confidence in reality had been eroded away, as much as he wondered if the hallucinations were really the result of drugs or just a chemical imbalance in his brain, there was one thing that felt too real to be all in his head.

Of course, he realized that this was the essence of what it meant to be delusional. If he _was_ suffering from delusions, being convinced something was true did not mean that it was true, or even rational, no matter how real it felt.

But he didn’t care that his absolute conviction something had happened didn’t mean it wasn’t a delusion. It _wasn’t_ a delusion. The bruises on his body were not self inflicted. It was happening, and Harrison was blind to it.

Harrison looked disappointed. “I need you to take all your medication.”

_Idiot_ , Tony couldn’t help but think.

 

\---

 

The drugs and the artificial lighting screwed up his perception of the passing of time. At times, Tony wondered how this place was supposed to help anyone get sane when it seemed the whole hospital was built to be as disorientating as possible. But fact remained that he had lost track of time, so Johnson’s appearance at the door surprised him. 

Dinner time.

Johnson stepped into the room, and the food cart remained in the hallway behind him as he shut the door. He looked at Tony expectantly. "Well?"

Summoning up some speck of pride that hadn’t abandoned him, Tony stood. He wasn’t about to crawl over to Johnson like a dog. He forced himself to take the few steps across the room, towards the other man.

Once he got within arm’s reach, Johnson grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down to his knees. Tony went without resistance, which he knew would have been useless. At one point he might have been able to put up a decent fight, but he’d been steadily wasting away locked up in this room. Even if he could overwhelm Johnson, there was nowhere for him to go. He had no family left except a cousin who never visited him, though it didn’t stop him from retaining Tony’s power of attorney, and no friends who were more than colleagues or acquaintances who ,if they even knew where he was, probably only shook their heads and thought it was sad.

Numb, Tony reached forward and started to work open the orderly’s pants. His fingers didn't even tremble as he freed Johnson's cock from his boxers, his body completely on autopilot. He'd done this so many times before, but despite all the experience, his stomach till turned as the tang of sweat and balls filled their air around him. His jaw clenched in useless resistance, the detachment fleeing him when he needed it the most.

"Come on," Johnson grumbled low in his throat.

Tony parted his lips through sheer force of will and took the head of Johnson’s half hard cock into his mouth with little preamble. He shut his eyes tight then, as if he could remember better times. As if Johnson would let him remember better times.

"That's it," the voice above him crooned.

Fingers slipped into his hair, and Tony automatically pushed forward, taking more of Johnson's flesh in before he could be forced down. The small modicum of control he was allowed was the only thing to keep from submitting to the panic fluttering just under his breastbone. He swallowed Johnson down willingly, or so he made himself believe, forcing more cock down his throat as the fingers tightened their grip in his hair, his scalp stinging.

He began to suck, his work obscenely loud in the quiet room, the sound of Johnson's quickening breath the only counterpoint to the wet slide of his lips as he moved up and down Johnson's shaft. One of Johnson's hands slipped around to cradle the back of his neck and the man began the slow thrust of his hips in and out of Tony's mouth.

Trying to hurry the disgusting chore, Tony added a hand, pumping Johnson's cock in time with his motions, palm slick with the saliva that drooled from his overfull mouth. Johnson moaned loudly in appreciation.

"You're better than any whore I could afford," Johnson murmured. "But you have real incentive to be a good cocksucker, don't you?"

His hand slid down Tony's neck, and he rubbed the spot between Tony’s shoulder blades in a sick parody of affection. "You want to get me off like this. You think it’ll keep me from taking your ass, don’t you? You hate it when I have your ass."

Tony didn't falter at all as he worked Johnson's cock, though it took effort to keep from shuddering. He didn't look up but he could hear the smirk on Johnson’s face in his voice. "I know you do."

He sighed, his fingers stroking Tony's hair. "I could take you at any time for any reason. So you don't want to give me any reasons, do you?" His grip in Tony's hair became painful. "Do you?"

Tony didn't know what Johnson expected. He made a desperate sound as the hand yanked, Tony surprised his scalp didn’t just tear, and Johnson laughed before starting to thrust in and out of Tony’s mouth brutally.

He did his best to relax his throat during the assault, trying to keep from gagging or accidently scrapping Johnson with his teeth. Tony was close, so close, to being finished. Johnson groaned urgently. He pulled far enough back to start jerking himself off into Tony’s mouth, leaving Tony to suck at he head. Johnson got off on making Tony taste it.

Another deep moan, and Tony's mouth filled with bitter fluid, and Tony forced himself not to choke on it. He hated himself, but he swallowed. He knew if he didn’t, he would be forced face first into it. Tony sucked and he swallowed until Johnson pushed him forcefully away.

"Fuck," Johnson panted.

Tony thought he should say something. Something scathing, just... something. A token resistance was better than none. But words failed him. Thoughts failed him.

Until Johnson patted him on the head, laughing again. Bitter, helpless rage boiled up from inside Tony’s gut, and he spat at Johnson’s feet.

“Still no manners?” Johnson snarled. Tony knew Johnson wanted to backhand him, just like he knew the reason why he couldn’t. Even Dr. Harrison would notice a handprint across his face. But that didn’t mean Tony wasn’t going to pay for the fleeting satisfaction he got from his little rebellion.

He was hauled up onto his feet by a large hand firsted in the front of his shirt. Before Tony could get his balance, Johnson was pushing him towards the bed. When Tony realized it, terror surged, and he flailed in a desperate attempt to wrench free. But Johnson didn’t lose his grip. Instead of tossing Tony onto the bed like he’d feared, the threw him into one sharp corner of it.

Pain shot through Tony’s body, tearing a cry from his bruised throat, collapsing in a boneless heap on the floor. Whether Johnson was aiming for his kidney or he just got lucky, Tony was going to be pissing blood for weeks.

When Johnson toed him with his boot, Tony didn’t say a word, didn’t even let himself groan. He had played into Johnson’s hands enough already. Snorting disdainfully, Johnson tucked himself back into his pants before he opened up the door again to take a tray from the food cart, spitting into it.

“Here... I suppose you earned this,” he sneered, dropping the tray onto the floor, causing half its contents to spill over the sides. Then the door shut, leaving Tony alone again.

Tony closed his eyes. It was alright. He wasn’t really that hungry, anyway.

 

\---

 

It was after the shift change when Tony was woken up by the unlocking of his door. Still aching from his time with Johnson, Tony didn’t bother to get up. But something was up -- the light outside his door was still dimmed, so it was too early for breakfast or meds.

“Get up, Stark,” the graveyard shift nurse called in to him. “You’ve got a visitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know anyone in the fandom, so I'm looking for a beta. I'm especially interested in someone who can help keep me on point for 616 characterization, but SPAG checking is also really valued! If you're interested in the job, comment or email me at uncommonlygoodliar at gmail.com.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The search for a beta continues, so please forgive my self-editing. Check the end notes if you're interested in the job, though!

 Steve hadn't really known what to expect, but this wasn’t it.

The man they brought in wasn't raving. Stark was quiet and as he was lead to the chair across the table from Steve, back straight and eyes forward, regarding him with a kind of guarded curiosity. His hair was black and cropped close to his head, possibly done to keep things like lice in check, and his face was covered in dark stubble, possibly grown in over night. It was still very early in the morning, probably well before he'd had a chance to wash up. He was on the taller side, but he looked too thin for his frame, though it was difficult to tell through the heavy straight jacket they had him in.

“Is that necessary?” Steve asked, hoping to indicate the jacket with his nod.

“There have been some incidents,” the orderly answered. “We have to take every precaution with new visitors.”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve thought a stiff breeze could blow Stark over. He was uncomfortably reminded of what his own body had been like, before the serum.

The orderly shook his head. “It’s procedure.”

“Don’t you think it would be better to find out if he’s going to be violent now, rather than after I’ve already left the premises with him?”

The change in Stark was subtle but immediate. Steve had been warned Stark might be unresponsive when he’d had a quick briefing by the staff of Stark’s condition. Now it was as if he’d been missing from the room and suddenly returned. Even though Stark was still silent, he seemed fully engaged now, leaning forward as he examined Steve, an intelligence in his eyes that had been missing moments earlier.

The orderly just sighed. “Look, I’m going to leave, then you can do what you want. Panic button’s behind you if you need it.”

The door clicked shut behind him as he left, and the two of them were alone.

“Do you want that jacket off?” he asked Stark, who nodded. “Are you going to try to hurt anyone? That includes yourself.”

“Not intentionally. Not unless you try something first,” Stark said, sounding surprisingly calm and reasonable. After the talk with the on duty doctor, Steve had expected the visit to be hopeless. For the first time since Wasp proposed the plan, Steve felt a faint stirring of hope. But it was still too early for optimism. Even if Stark proved lucid enough to reason with, that didn’t mean he was going to be the answer to their problem.

Steve stood and walked around the table. “Come on then -- let’s get that off you.”

Stark got up and turned his back to Steve, though Steve could tell it made him tense to do it. “Relax,” Steve said as he started on the buckles of the jacket, hoping the tension wasn’t a prelude to one of the incidents the orderly had been alluding to. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” Stark said, though he didn’t relax any. Steve still took him at his word and continued working open the jacket.

Steve was no expert on these kinds of things, but the belts seemed pulled awfully tight. When tugging on one pulled a gasp out of Stark, and Steve stopped and let his arms fall to his sides. “Where are you injured?”

Stark twisted around. “What?”

“It’s hard not to hurt you when you’re injured and not telling me.” Steve frowned. He’d dealt with this kind of stubbornness a lot with-- Steve cut off that train of thought quickly. Now wasn’t the time to get all sentimental over the past.

Still, Steve didn’t understand was what reason Stark had for hiding an injury. From the way he’d walked in, Steve hadn’t even suspected he was hurt. Stark wasn’t exactly a soldier with something to prove or a kid with a chip on his shoulder, was he? Then again, Stark was crazy, so maybe he didn’t need a reason at all.

Stark turned back around, stiff backed. “It’s nothing. You’re not going to set me off, if that’s what you’re worried about. Finish it up, will you?”

While that had been of Steve’s worries, he wasn’t so careless that he was going to keep going regardless of Stark’s condition. “Just tell me where it is so I can be careful.”

Stark let out a soft huff of breath. “Right kidney.” Steve wondered how he’d managed that, but Stark didn’t volunteer an explanation and that was probably for the best. The doctor had warned him ahead of time about Stark’s paranoid delusions.

Steve finished unfastening the jacket and helped Stark out of it. “I imagine you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“I’m wondering a lot of things right now,” Stark said, “but that is pretty high on the list.”

Steve sat back down across from him. “There’s a situation, and I’ve been told you could be an asset. There’s... a device in the city. It’s been disrupting people’s sleep. We have an expert working on it, but there’s been a complication.”

Stark looked intrigued. “So you want a consult?”

“Yes. The man working on it identified a... detonator, but we don’t know how to disarm it. There might not even been a bomb, but it’s too deep in the city to take any chances. We could use someone with your experience.” Though that assumed Stark was still master of himself enough to provide it.

Stark's head tilted slightly. “A question?”

“Go ahead.”

“I know who you look like,” Stark said, his eyes lingering on Steve’s clothes -- the mail, if he was following Stark’s gaze accurately. “But they say I’m prone to hallucinations and delusions, so I hope you’ll forgive me asking the obvious. But... are you wearing a Captain America costume?”

Steve kicked himself for not introducing himself. He was used to people recognizing the uniform. He wasn't used to people thinking it was only a costume. “I am Captain America.”

“Another one?” A small furrow appeared between Stark’s eyebrows. “Why now, after all these years?”

Steve didn’t know why he was around after all these years. But that wasn’t what Stark was really asking.

“You haven’t heard?” His recovery in the arctic was in the papers, including the electronic ones. Not that Steve cared for fame, but at this point most people weren’t surprised to see him in the uniform, despite the fact he didn’t use it much. Sure, not everyone believed he was the original Captain America. Some thought he was just another replacement, like the Captain Americas who Steve had learned had followed in his footsteps after... after he was lost. But they knew _someone_ was using the title.

“Everyone’s heard about Captain America,” Stark said. “But no. I haven’t heard about a new one. They try not to let me hear about anything that might upset me, and they think that everything might upset me..” There was an unexpected glimmer of dark humor in his eyes, and his voice dropped low. “It’s kind of upsetting, if you ask me.”

It wasn’t funny, but somehow Steve was resisting a tug at the corner of his lips anyway. “Well, I’m the first Captain America. They found me. I was... frozen.” Steve wasn’t keen on thinking about that part.

Stark blinked and looked at Steve like _he_ was the crazy one. “That’s... Give me the shield.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“I’d like to know I’m not hallucinating, at least. I can’t touch a hallucination.”

Steve frowned. “You can touch it, but that’s all.” Frankly, Steve still wasn’t thrilled about it, but he supposed it was harmless enough, and if it helped convince Stark he was real, so much the better.

He took the shield up and held it across the table on his arm, his grip firm in the leather straps. Stark reached out slowly, hesitantly, his eyes flicking up to Steve’s as if he didn’t trust him not to use the shield as a weapon against him.

Seeing him so anxious, Steve felt his annoyance start to evaporate. “I told you I wasn’t going to hurt you.” Stark was starting to remind him of a soldier who’d been on the front too long, wound up tight and always expecting an attack. Of course, there was no one there to relieve Stark from fighting whatever demons he had in his head.

“I believe you mean that,” Stark said, and Steve let the matter drop again, trying not to let Stark’s tension get too far under his skin.

Stark’s fingers brushed the edge of the shield. He seemed faintly surprised to encounter it, but he recovered quickly and soon his touch became less tentative as he moved up to feel the shield’s surface.

“Well... it’s a shield, all right. Assuming I’m not deluded,” Stark smiled slightly, the first Steve had seen on his face. Steve was surprised by how young he really was, and how much he reminded him of leading men in Hollywood pictures. “I don’t feel any flaws, either. Will you turn it over?”

Steve turned his arm over, watching Stark’s face as he studied the shield. The shield seemed to do what words hadn’t been able to do, and Stark started to ease up. Steve held as still as a statue, not wanting to disrupt Stark’s sudden confidence.

“Definitely cast as one piece. Not a scratch _anywhere_ ,” Stark observed as his hand ran over the rim of the shield. He stood up from his chair and leaned in closer “The stitching on those straps is modern, but I suppose you’d have to have those replaced after all this time.” His voice dropped low. “What I wouldn’t to see if this _was_ the real thing.”

Steve smiled despite himself. “I assure you, it is.”

Stark jumped as if he’d forgotten Steve was there, and Steve was almost sorry for disrupting. Almost, but Stark’s sudden spirit seemed undamped. “Oh, I want to believe you. I mean, who hasn’t tried to recreate this alloy? The applications....”

“You tried to recreate it?” Steve had to think that _most people_ had never tried to recreate it, but it was obvious most people weren’t Anthony Stark.

“Well, getting the vibranium is practically impossible, but that’s never stopped anyone theorizing,” Stark said, gazing back at the shield with almost something like longing.

“You couldn’t take a sample even if you tried,” Steve told him as he withdrew his arm and took the shield back off.

“If it’s real deal, then you’re right,” Stark said, sitting back down in his chair. “But just because I didn’t see any proof that it isn’t, doesn’t mean that it _is_.”

“Does it really matter?” Steve asked. He wanted to be honest with Stark, but convincing him he was the original Captain America wasn’t why he’d come down here.

Stark considered him with a measuring glance before conceding. “No, I guess it doesn’t... I wanted to know you weren’t a hallucination, and you aren’t.”

“So will you help?”

Stark blinked. “I have a choice?”

“Of course you have a choice,” Steve said with a little too much force, if the way Stark scooted back in his chair was anything to go by. “I’m not here to force you to do anything, Mr. Stark.”

Stark made a sound in the back of his throat, and Steve frowned. “You don’t believe me.”

Stark shook his head. “No. I’m just trying to remember the last time someone called me ‘mister’.” He leaned forward again in his seat. “There’s no need for pretenses here, so you may as well call me Tony.”

“Tony.” Steve asked, “Will you help?”

Tony smiled. “Of course.” His voice trailed off.

“Do I hear a ‘but’ coming?” Steve asked, somehow unsurprised.

“No, no buts,” Tony said. “I don’t need any incentives to help you. If you’ve come to me, then you must be desperate, and that can’t be good. I do have a request, though?”

“I’ll hear it, at least,” Steve said. He wasn’t sure he was in a position to be granting anything, but Tony deserved the consideration.

“Because of my security clearance before...” Tony raised his hands and turned them, indicating the room. “ _this_ , I’m not allowed to talk to anyone but a handful of staff. I don’t get visitors. I’m not sure if it’s because they’re turned away or....” His gaze went distant. He shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter. I’m assuming whoever you are, you’re military or intelligence or _something._ And if you could just... check up on me now and then. It doesn’t have to be you specifically, you can send someone else so long as they’ll be allowed through. Just... someone from outside. That’s enough.” He met Steve’s eyes then, and Steve could see how much it was costing him just to ask.

The loneliness Steve could understand. The fact that Tony’s civilian service to national security was now keeping him apart from whatever friends and loved ones he had was bitterly unfair. But Tony was desperate too, afraid of the very people trying to help him. It had been easy enough for Steve forget how unwell he was, but now it reared its head, and Steve didn’t want to enable it.

“No one here is trying to hurt you, Tony.”

It was like shutters closed over Tony’s face, and Steve regretted saying anything.

“Look,” Steve said, “I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.” Maybe he could talk to Tony’s doctor. At the very least, a sick man shouldn’t be punished with isolation just for possessing a few old secrets.

Tony nodded in acknowledgement, but he could tell Tony didn’t expect him to do anything.

Steve would just have to prove him wrong.

 

\---

 

Steve finished signing Tony out, taking him temporarily into his custody. The hospital put a tracking device around Tony’s ankle as a precaution and gave Steve his medication for that day. When the civvies Tony checked in with proved to be too big to fit him, the staff kindly managed to scrounge up a set of scrubs for him to wear. The fit was still loose, but at least the clothes weren’t falling off him.

Tony’s mood lifted once they were outside. Steve watched as he bent down to pick up a leaf from the ground, fallen from one of the small trees outside the hospital. He studied it with the same attention he paid to Steve’s shield.

“Don’t they let you outside?” Steve couldn’t help but ask.

“They let some of the others in the yard with supervision,” Tony said as he rolled the leaf between his fingers. “I use the exercise room alone.”

It didn’t seem right, denying the man fresh air, but Steve wasn’t a doctor. He turned to hail a cab, hiding his frown.

“The military didn’t get you a car?” Tony asked as one pulled over. “Captain America takes taxis?” He was definitely teasing him.

“I haven’t found a bike I like yet,” Steve said irritably. He hadn’t exactly been in a shopping mood. He wasn’t even sure what he could afford. He _still_ did a double take at the price of coffee at the cafe at the corner of his block. “It’s this or the subway.”

“I’d rather take the subway,” Tony said, actually sounding a little hopeful.

No way were they risking that and it was a mistake to have even brought it up. He opened the door to the cab. “Get in.”

Tony sighed but did as Steve told him. When Steve got in after him, he was already pressed up against the far window, staring outside. Steve left him alone, giving the cabbie the address of the warehouse. The man didn’t even blink at who his passenger was, pulling back into the street without a word.

Sitting back in his seat, Steve’s exhaustion caught up with him now that there wasn’t anything for him to do but deliver Tony. Tony himself was busy drinking in the city from the window, and the radio played some music that Steve wasn’t sure was in English or not. He crossed his arms and longed to just get some shut eye.

Jan had said the hospital should have been far enough from the spreading nightmare effect that he could safely nap, but Steve hadn’t been able to sleep on the subway over. Too many distractions, too much noise, too many _people_. Now that it was quiet--

A sharp stop at a red pulled him out of his thoughts. Steve looked around as their driver curse, and he caught Tony eyeing a nearby alley, his hand tight on the door handle.

“Tony,” he warned, his voice low.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted,” Tony admitted as he continued to looked out the window. “But you don’t have to worry. I meant it when I said I’d help. I won’t try to run so long as you need me.”

Steve could appreciate the honesty. But he had to ask, “And when we’re finished?”

Tony turned back and smiled. “If you’re really Captain America, you’ll stop me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony will get to the machine next chapter, I promise! This part ended up a bit longer than I was expecting.
> 
> I'm still looking for a beta for this! If you're interested, feel free to contact by comment or email. My email address is uncommonlygoodliar at gmail.com.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand thanks to [Kiyaar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyaar/pseuds/Kiyaar) for the beta! You helped save this chapter. All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Sorry for the long disappearance, everyone.

Three years and the world didn’t look so different.  Not on the surface, anyway.  Tony wondered how much had changed while the world had moved on without him, what new technological developments were on the horizon.  He’d kill for a tech journal.   At this point, he’d even be excited about an issue of Discover.

Captain America hadn’t spoken to him again since dozing off, though Tony could feel his eyes on him.  He tried not to let it bother him.  He had to at least try to avoid behavior that seemed paranoid, least the captain decide he really wasn’t up for this job.  Tony wasn’t willing to do anything to endanger this first trip outside the hospital since his commitment.

The cabbie brought them into a neighborhood filled with warehouses, stopping in front of an old building.  Old for New York, anyway.  The Captain paid their driver and escorted Tony into the warehouse.  Tony tried not to let on how nervous it made him when the captain followed a step behind him, but he must have noticed, since he fell in line beside Tony before they got to the door.  Tony just about jumped out of his skin when his name was shouted aloud as soon as he stepped through. 

“Tony!”  A woman in black and yellow spandex rushed up to him, grabbing onto his hands and squeezing them.  A lifetime ago, he would have known how to respond to that.  He was bewildered now, but enough of his old instincts remained that he smiled back at her, her face familiar, but he wasn’t able to place it immediately.  “Steve, you got him.”

Then she really looked at Tony, and her face fell a little.  “Oh, Tony...”  She trailed off.  Her eyes said _what happened to you,_ while her lips said, “It’s good to see you.”

His throat suddenly closed up.  He blinked hard, swallowing passed the lump in his throat.  It was embarrassing how much her touch and her obvious lie meant to him.

“Jan…?”  The name came to him at last, and Tony was a little surprised he managed to come up with it at all.  He’d last seen her when she was a kid, awkward with adolescence, just like he had been.  Their fathers weren’t exactly in the same social circle, but he’d still seen her at various parties and gatherings.  He remembered her laugh.  She had been fun when others had been timid.

Jan grinned.  “You remember me.”  She seemed to take that as permission to hug him, and Tony didn’t object.  In fact, he might have held on a little tighter than was appropriate, but she didn’t mention it as they parted.

“Of course,” Tony said.  “You were the only one with enough sense to find the fire extinguisher.”  It had been a small fire.  A product of spur of the moment tinkering at a dinner party he did not want to be at (and consequently was never invited to again).    

The Captain -- Steve, which was consistent with the whole ‘original Captain America’ yarn, but the jury was still out on that one -- cleared his throat.  “Shouldn’t we be getting to work?” 

“What he’s trying to say is that even though I have a chaperone, I’m not supposed to talk to civilians about anything but work.  National security and everything.  They don’t trust me not to just blurt out outdated launch codes to obsolete missiles,” Tony said, because he didn’t think he was up to tiptoeing around the fact he was on loan from the looney bin all day.

Steve looked angry.  “That _wasn’t_ what I was trying to say.” 

“Good,” Jan cut in, “Because I won’t have it.  But Steve is right, and you need to help dismantle the device before we can catch up.”  The look she gave Tony was apologetic.

Tony smiled, as if he did this all the time.  “That’s what I’m here for.”  And he mind itched for the challenge.  God, he hoped it was a challenge.  It had been too long since he’d had a challenge.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Hank,” Jan said, taking him by the arm.  She lead him further inside, the Captain shadowing them.

Tony was more interested in the machine, already partially lying in parts on a tarps spread over the floor, than he was in meeting anyone new.  It was an immense relief that he recognized everything immediately.  Sure, it wasn’t rational to be afraid of a complete technological revolution going on without him in three short years, but he thought he was allowed to be a little irrational, given the circumstances.

He was distracted enough that a new voice asking, “Who’s this?” caught him by surprise, and he looked away from the nearest pile of transistors  The man crouching in a pile of intact hardware was looking at him, clearly annoyed.  And tired.  Everyone looked tired, even the people on the streets Tony had seen from the window. 

The man, Hank probably, had a lab coat on over a fairly ridiculously bright jumpsuit, complete with hood with an odd bit of decoration dangling from it.  What were those supposed to be?  Antennae?  Captain America’s outfit had already been explained to him, Jan had always dressed different, on the cutting edge of fashion, but this latest bizarre outfit had him wondering if his senses weren’t playing tricks on him again.

“This is Tony,” Jan said, conspicuously leaving his last name out of it.  He wondered for whose benefit that was.  “He’s here to help with the machine.  Tony, this is Hank.”

“Help?” Hank repeated with a slight frown on his face, looking Tony over.  Apparently dismissing him almost instantly, Hank turned back to Jan.  “This is very delicate work and we have no idea what’s going to happen if it goes wrong.  You can’t just bring in just anyone to help.  What are his qualifications?”

Tony grinned. _This is going to be fun._ __

\---

Two hours flew by in no time at all. 

Hank Pym was not what Tony expected.  After spending three years being spoken to as if he were an idiot instead of insane, meeting someone who actually could be his intellectual peer was a revelation.  Sure, Hank’s specialty wasn’t engineering, but he followed along with Tony’s thought process better than some of the professors at MIT ever had. 

It was hard to keep focus on the task at hand.  Hank was only too willing to ramble on about new research, mostly in his field in biochemistry, but it was the first news Tony had heard about anything in years and Tony was desperate for every word.

The only reason he wasn’t entirely distracted was the machine itself.  It had been too long since he’d had his hands on hardware, and this machine was a puzzle.  And as curious as Tony was about how it might be disrupting people’s sleep, the first priority, the whole reason he’d been called out here, was to find out if it was rigged to explode and disarm it. 

And if a few things went missing here and there, small things Hank wouldn’t miss but Tony might be able to smuggle back into his room, they could consider it payment for services rendered.

Besides the detonator Hank had already identified, Tony found several sub detonators waiting for the first to be disarmed in order to activate.  They were unusual, things an ordinary bomb disposal team would have almost certainly have missed.  Hank had missed them initially, too.   He didn’t know weapons the way Tony did, and whoever had designed this one was clever.

Constructing a whole chain of interconnected detonators was an awful lot of trouble to go through if there was no boom.  The first detonator had to be the decoy.  One of the sub detonators must lead to the payload... 

And he had thought he had found the perfect place for it to be hiding, inside a steel casing that took Tony twenty minutes of careful disassembly to reach.  Hank had already run the Geiger counter over everything, so at least they could be reasonably hopeful it wasn’t nuclear.

Once they knew what they were dealing with, they could disarm it, and finally take the whole device offline.  Then everyone could get some sleep and Tony could get locked away in a padded room again. 

Simple.

“Tony.”  Steve’s voice was quiet.  Working with potential bomb was delicate business, after all.

The captain had been there all morning, watching if relatively unobtrusive.  It was clear he was wound up, tension in his shoulders and a habit he seemed to have of tightening and loosening the straps that held his shield to his back.  But then, Steve had nothing to do but watch as a couple of people dealt with a potentially lethal device that could go off at any time.  Who wouldn’t be tense? 

Mostly Steve’s eyes had been glazed over and half-focused, and Tony couldn’t tell if it was from the lack of restful sleep the machine was apparently causing or the fact he wasn’t following what Hank and him were talking about.  Probably some combination of both.  It was a good thing, too, otherwise he might have caught on to the odds and ends Tony was hiding away.

Right now, though, a phone was pressed to Steve’s ear, though it was awkwardly held, his fingers half covering the speaker.  The phone was clearly not designed for someone with hands as large as his.

“Jan is going to get us breakfast,” Steve said.  “She’s at a diner.  What do you want?”

It was the simplest question he’d had to deal with all day, and it paralyzed Tony. He wasn’t used to having choices.  There was always a right answer, an expected answer.  And Tony didn’t know what it was. 

Steve frowned, perhaps seeing the sudden panic in Tony’s eyes.  “Do you need to hear the menu?”

Tony shook his head quickly, not wanting to deal with it, or think too closely about why it might be a thing that needed to be dealt with.  He had work to do. Work he wanted to get back to.  “Anything.” 

“Are you alright?”  Steve asked him, and Tony almost laughed.  He grinned, and if anything, Steve only seemed more unsettled. 

“I’m fine.  Better than I have been in awhile.”  And it was true.  Maybe that was what was upsetting Steve.  The fact he was almost giddy in the face of a boobytrapped nightmare machine.  Tony couldn’t help it, though.  He couldn’t even hide it.

Steve let it go and asked Jan to pick up a variety.  Tony took the opportunity while Steve was distracted to sidle over to Hank.

“Is he for real?” he asked in a low voice.

“Who?” Hank asked without looking up.

“Captain America over there.".. 

“Of course he is,” Hank answered offhandedly.  “I studied his blood samples myself.”

“What?”

“Jan and I were the ones who found him frozen.   Amazing process.  I wish I knew how he survived it.”  He looked up at Tony.  “Just think of the applications in cryogenics.”

Tony just nodded, glancing back at Steve, who was staring right back at him.  Either this was an elaborate ruse to make him believe something crazy, a very persistent delusion, or Captain America was really in the room with him.  He wasn’t sure which one was more likely.

Sometimes Tony wondered if life was worth living if you could never be sure what was happening in it.

When Jan came thirty minutes later, Hank and he were rather deliberately separated.  Jan took Hank outside to eat somewhere less potential blast radius-y, leaving Tony and Steve in the warehouse with the device. 

“I promised the doctor you’d have regular breaks,” Steve explained in a tone of voice that allowed for no argument.  It rubbed Tony the wrong way.  “And I don’t think you’ll get one talking to Hank.”

He was disappointed.  Hank had been the most surprising highlight of this trip.  “Can’t I at least talk to Jan?"  She at least had a familiar face, even if he had never known her terribly well.  "No offense, Cap, it’s just been a really long time since I spoke with a woman.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth seemed to twitch, as if there were anything amusing about this situation.  “Hank needs a break, too.  And I need to stay with you at all times.  This way works out best for everyone.”

Tony didn't agree, but at this point he knew better than to argue.  No one took anything he had to say seriously.  At least, no one had until Hank and he had started working on the machine.   But Tony supposed there were worse things than having the real Captain America for company.  Especially for him, as he could consider himself lucky if he had a spider crawl into his room for companionship. 

“Now.” Steve opened the two styrofoam boxes he’d gotten from Jan, checking their contents. “Do you want the omelet and hashbrowns or flapjacks?”

Two choices were much more manageable than the open-ended question of before, and Tony only hesitated a moment before picking the omelet.  He’d skipped dinner, and he didn’t do sweets well on an empty stomach.

Steve handed the box to him and a plastic fork.  He didn’t get a knife, even though Tony could see there were two in the bag.  It wasn’t worth complaining about, though maybe he should feel gratified that apparently Captain America felt that putting a plastic knife into his hands was too great a risk.

_More likely he thinks I'm going to hurt myself with it._ For a moment Tony was tempted to remind Steve he'd had his hands on far more dangerous tools only a few minutes ago, but that ran the risk of Steve deciding those were off limits, too.  Tony kept his mouth shut and cut his eggs with the fork.

The second the food hit his mouth, Tony realized just how hungry he really was.  He’d thought Johnson had managed to permanently cure of him of ever having an appetite again, but he was wrong.  The omelet was dripping oil and grease a little burnt on the bottom.  It turned out to have green bell peppers in it, which Tony hated.  In another life, Tony would have refused to have anything to do with it.  But Tony’s hunger, a constant unpleasant emptiness he was only distantly aware of after living with it so long, sharpened into something painful and desperate.  He shoveled up more quickly, hardly chewing.

“Easy,” Steve said, sounding startled.   “Don’t they feed you?”

Tony froze, fork halfway to his mouth, shuddering.

Steve looked alarmed.  The question had been rhetorical, Tony realized.  But now his reaction required some kind of explanation. 

“...Yeah.  Hospital food.”

The damage was done, and Steve was giving him a look -- no, Steve was looking him over.  Tony looked back down at his plate and tried to eat more normally. 

“Coffee?” he asked hopefully after a few moments passed and Steve thankfully chose not to comment on his behavior.

“Here,” Steve said, picking out a styrofoam cup and sliding it over.  “Jan figured everyone could use a pick-me-up.”

Jan was a saint as far as Tony was concerned.  Too hungry to really carry a conversation, Tony finished eating in silence.  It was his first full meal in a long time. 

“It’s time for your medication,” Steve said once Tony had dropped his fork into the box, and from the look of him, Steve expected an argument.  The doctor on call had probably warned him about Tony’s refusal to take medication.  But Tony had been ready for this moment, and he just held his hand out for the pills like a good little boy. 

“Hand me that milk?” he asked, spying the individual-sized carton in a bag with a few bottles of juice.  Steve tossed it over.

Tony put the pills in his mouth and trapped them quickly under his tongue.  He took a few large swallows of the milk, then intentionally lost the pills in the carton in some backwash.  Easy.

As he anticipated, Steve just relaxed, relieved Tony hadn’t put up a fuss.  The man wasn’t a nurse used to policing patients trying to ditch their meds.

“So you’re really Captain America,” Tony said as Steve started back in on his pancake stack.

“Is that what you were whispering about?” Steve asked, not sounding very surprised.  Tony supposed he hadn’t been very subtle. 

“Something like that,” Tony said, waving it off.  “How'd you get involved in this mess?  This isn’t an army mess, is it?”  The last thing Tony needed to know was more classified information.  He had a slim hope that the stuff he did know would be declassified, and he could get moved to a different ward, possibly even a different facility all together.   

“No, it isn't.  Wasp asked me to come down,” Steve said.  “I’m not army any more.”

Steve didn’t sound very sure about that last point, but Tony let it go.  He guessed the army didn't get many soldiers showing up a few decades shy of a century after they'd gone MIA.  Especially soldiers as high profile as Captain America.

“Wasp?” he pressed, needing to know if this whole enterprise was just digging him deepering to the hole he'd found himself in.

“Jan, I mean.  Wasp is her codename.”  

"Codename?"  Tony couldn't see Jan in the military or any other organization that might require a codename.

“Well... she shrinks and has wings and...” Steve paused, a small frown on his face.  Which was good, because Tony was starting to wonder if he’d accidentally swallowed one of those pills and was starting to hear things again.  “Maybe she should explain this to you.  Or Pym.  He’s the one who figured it all out.” 

Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to ask either one of them about it, because it sounded nuts, and Jan and Hank were the only people he'd met in three years who did not treat him like he was nuts.

 It brought up a question he was reluctant to ask.  “Does Hank know I’m crazy?”

Steve looked unhappy.  “Jan didn’t think it was important to tell him about... you being unwell, but I did."  He let out a breath.  “She should be telling him now.”

Well, that was something to look forward to.  It had been nice to have been treated like a sane man while it lasted, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.  “But he had to know in case it affects your work.”

“I get it.”  From Steve’s point of view, it made sense. 

“No one blames you for being sick,” Steve said. 

And wasn’t that a big comfort?  It wasn’t his fault no one believed a word he said and thought him incapable of doing anything himself.  A hand covered his, and Tony looked up at Steve, startled.

“Tony, don’t worry.  I’m sure your medicine will help.  You’re on the right track.”

For a moment, Tony felt faintly guilty for tricking Steve into thinking that was true.

\---

Things were awkward for a while after Hank came back and double checked all of Tony’s work.  He seemed angry about it, but his anger wasn't directed at Tony.  That was little consolation for the loss of their working relationship.  It slowed things down and made things more difficult when Tony found something he wanted to sneak out.

They opened the casing on the mystery component and finally got a look at what was either a weapon or a very elaborate decoy.  It took Tony a few minutes to realize what he was seeing.  When he did, a part of him couldn’t help but be a little impressed.

“What is it?”  Hank asked him.

“If I’m right,” Tony said, “This will create something like a detonation wave if it goes off, but with no explosion.  If this thing had gone off, our internal organs would have been pulverised, but the transmitter on the machine would have been fine.”  He had to be right.  If he was so far gone that he couldn’t figure out a bomb, then he was too far gone to ever come back.  He couldn’t accept that.

After he walked Hank through it, he could tell by the tightness around Hank’s mouth that the other man was in agreement with him.  Crazy he may be, but Tony still knew weapons.

"Can you disarm it?” Steve asked, his pacing stopped.

“A three or four more hours,”  Tony estimated.  “Then the machine will be safe to take offline.”  But Tony had a suspicion that taking the machine offline was only going to be a temporary solution.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked.

Tony and Hank shared a look before Hank answered, “Since Tony and I started studying the device in detail, it’s become clear that most of it is composed of redundant systems.  It’s actually very simple at its core.  It's just a basic receiver, transmitter and amplifier.”  Hank said. 

Steve looked to Tony, perplexed.  “We already knew it was sending out a signal, didn’t we?”

Tony nodded.  “But that’s practically all it can do.  This isn't the source of the transmissions, this is just where they’re magnified and delivered.”

Steve’s shoulders set, a sudden fire in his eyes.  “Where is the signal from?” 

Tony wished he could give Steve the new objective he obviously wanted.  “We don’t know.  Yet.”

“I tracked the machine because the signal it transmits is something like a telepath’s, but much stronger.  I thought we were going to find a mutant here.”  Hank sounded almost put out.  "Now I'm starting to suspect we're looking for another machine."

Steve turned back to Hank.  “Can you pinpoint it?”

"Yes, but it’s going to take time.”

 “I can help.” Tony said. Hank could do it, but he'd be faster with Tony's help.

“That isn’t necessary,” Hank said.  Tony turned to Steve, hoping he had the authority to overrule that decision.

“We appreciate your help,” Steve said, with that look in his eyes again.  That pity.  “Once you and Hank have finished with the machine, I’ll take you home.” 

“It’s not my home,” Tony snapped, fists tight with frustration.  As much as he’d been on his best behavior today in an effort to prove himself, he couldn't  take that bit of patronization.  Especially when the discussion was over already, despite the fact he had proved he could still do this work.  “It’s a mental institution.”

Both Hank and Steve looked uncomfortable.  Good.  He didn’t want them to be able to pretend that he had a life he was going to get back to. 

\---

Luckily Hank was just as talkative as he was before, only too willing to tell Tony more about the X-gene and Pym particles.

Three years.  It had only taken three years for the world to leave him behind. 

He glanced over at Steve, still watching like a sentinel.  If Tony felt this badly out of the loop after three years, what the hell did Captain America over there feel like?

He was half listening to Hank discuss the practical application of Pym particles when his eye caught something familiar.  Something that shouldn’t be there. 

It was a Stark Industries military grade microprocessor, designed to survive a nuclear weapon’s EMP pulse.  There was no way that it was on the civilian market, even after three years.

After double checking it was safe, he pulled one of the chips out to bring it under the magnifier and check for its serial number: SI-USTS-NEMP/37R-5445.  Definitely Stark Industries.  Making a guess at his company’s production numbers for the last three years, Tony could estimate this microprocessor was manufactured recently.  One to three months recently, was he wasn't too far off his mark.  Not very long if this came secondhand from the black market.

And if it didn’t come secondhand from the black market...

It could be a military experiment.  Or it could be that some corrupt person, either in Stark Industries or in the military, was selling components to anyone who could afford them  Tony was willing to bet it was the latter, and that the corruption was in SI.

Maybe it wasn’t just paranoia. Maybe someone _did_ want to get him out of the way.

It was a lot, too much, to conclude from a single microprocessor.   But Tony’s instincts were telling him it was true.  Instincts people had been trying to tell him for years were flawed and wrong.

“Hank, will you come here?”  Tony asked, trying to keep his voice even as his hands shook. 

Hank walked over.  “What do you need?”

“Will you read me the serial number?”

“Can’t you read it yourself?”

Tony smiled a little.  “Humor me?”

Hank sighed but looked down into the magnifier.  “SI-USMTS-NEMP/37R-5445.”

Not a hallucination.  Maybe a delusion, but not a hallucination.  

Tony was very aware that this was the first time in a long time that he hadn’t taken _any_ of his meds all day (he’d hidden them them from Steve again at lunch).  Either he was losing his grip on reality entirely or finally grabbing hold of it again.

“What does it mean, Tony?” Hank asked.  

Hank probably realized the SI in the front was for Stark Industries.  He probably recognized NEMP/37R as the name of the microprocessor, even if he wasn’t familiar with the model.  But the rest of it probably didn’t mean anything to him.

Tony wavered.  If he told Hank that it was military hardware and left out any paranoid-sounding theories, Hank would probably believe him. He might even trace the chip back to the seller in an effort to find the person who'd assembled this device.  But if the corruption went as far as Tony thought it did, that supplier would only be a small fish.  Catching him would drive the real culprit deeper into hiding.

On the other hand, Tony wasn’t likely to be able to investigate the matter further from his room at the hospital.

“This is military grade.  This shouldn’t be here,” Tony said, leaving it at that.

Hank frowned, and Tony wondered if he was putting the pieces together himself.  “We should keep working for now.”

It took a few more hours, but by the time they were done, the microprocessor wasn’t the only SI component Tony found.  Not by a long shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still looking for people able to beta this story, and maybe a couple other things in this fandom if anyone is interested. If you asked me about this months ago, and are still free, please contact me again! My email is uncommonlygoodliar (at) gmail.com. I apologize in advance for my terrible response time, but any and all help you're willing to provide will be much appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Kiyaar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyaar/pseuds/Kiyaar) for the beta on this chapter <3

The day passed slowly, but Steve’s days often did.  Watching Pym and Tony work was at least more interesting than staring at his blank television set, which was off more often than not.  Steve knew he should try to immerse himself more, to learn more about the slang and culture and the people his countrymen had become, but it got overwhelming.  He’d be watching a show about greasy food restaurants and suddenly a battlefield would erupt on the screen and Steve was back in Normandy, if only for a few seconds. It only took those few seconds to cost him the rest of the day.  It was only hours later, when the television was off and his breathing was even again that he would realize what he had been watching earlier was just an advertisement for a fancier TV.

At least right now, even though Steve wasn’t able to do much, he felt like he was watching them accomplish something worthwhile.  Even if he wasn’t actively helping, it was only his presence that allowed Tony to be here to get the work done.  It wasn't what Steve wanted for himself, but it was better than sitting in his apartment all day. 

The only thing he missed from his daily routine were the exercises he did and the way they let him get out of his head for awhile.  But he needed to pay attention, even if he was almost at the end of his endurance.  Guard duty wasn’t glamorous, but it was still important.

Tony seemed so reasonable most of the time, and it was hard to imagine that he was the same person the doctor had described to Steve.  He was jumpy sometimes, and prickly more often than that, but it wasn’t the paranoia and aggression Steve had been warned about.  Tony didn’t have any fits or any periods of unresponsiveness.  He didn’t even refuse medication.

As the afternoon passed, Steve imagined he was seeing more and more of the person Tony had been before his commitment, the one Jan had known.  Tony was smart and he knew it.  He was proud of it.  His whole demeanor had changed from that first meeting at the hospital.  He had started to use his body to take up more space instead of less, and his gestures as he talked had become broader and more expressive. 

Tony’s technical chatter was actually easier for Steve to understand than Pym’s.  Steve thought it might be because Tony was better at reading people, better at seeing just where Steve was lost and backing up to that point and starting again.  Pym tried to be considerate, but he often got sidetracked and veered into technical details that only confused Steve more. 

Steve wondered if giving Tony a problem to solve wasn’t something his doctors had tried with him, if they shouldn’t be here to see this change.  If Steve felt he was going crazy in his apartment with nothing to do, then how must a mind like Tony’s react to idleness? 

But Steve wasn’t a doctor.  Maybe today was just one of Tony’s good days.

“Are you ready Hank?” Tony called.  Steve could only see his legs, his upper body somewhere inside the machine.

“Ready.”

“Let’s try it,” Tony said.  “Cut it.”

Hank pulled a lever.  The machine started to go dark, the constant hum it put out going quiet.

Tony withdrew from under the wires, his face stained with grease.  “That did it.  We’re officially not going to die.”  Hank smiled back at him.

“It’s done?”  Steve asked. 

“Yeah.  Now we should finally be able to get some sleep.”  Hank looked as relieved as Steve felt. 

“What time is it?”  Tony said as he wipes his hands off on a greasy towel. 

Steve pulled his watch from his pocket -- he couldn’t wear the watch over his glove, but he liked keeping a separate timepiece instead of using his phone to keep time, like Wasp insisted he should.  “Just after four.” 

Tony seemed to go pale.  It wasn’t the first time Steve had seen that stricken look on his face.

“I have to secure the device, but we’re finished here.  I’ll call Jan to come help with the clean up, but you’re free to leave, Cap,”  Hank said as he scribbled something down on tablet without looking up.  “Thank you for the help, Tony.” 

“Yeah, sure.  My pleasure.”  Tony glanced uncertainly towards Steve, and Steve nodded.

“It’s been a long day.  We should get back.”  Steve could see the tension in Tony's neck and shoulders, and Steve found himself wishing he didn’t have to take him back. 

“Right.”  Tony picked his way through parts strewn all over the floor.  If he dragged his feet doing it, Steve didn’t begrudge him that.  "It was fun while it lasted."

For a brief moment, Steve's lips threatened to quirk upward at the edges.  He didn't know Tony very well, but only he would have described this whole experience as 'fun' sincerely.

“You did good,” Steve told him honestly, wishing Tony didn’t look so defeated now that he was free and clear of the machine.  “You should be proud.”

Tony sighed, looking at the scattered pieces Hank was cataloguing. "All I did was take it apart."

"What you did today was important," Steve said.  It had been far more important that Steve's own contribution, which had simply to stand by and watch.

Tony offered him an uncertain smile, shrugging off Steve's words.  “Hey, are you hungry?  Want to get an early dinner?”  He glanced up and briefly met Steve’s eyes, and Steve couldn’t miss the fear in them before he looked away

It was wrong, it was so wrong that Tony was this afraid of the people trying to help him.

“Sure,” Steve said, though he didn’t know that he was doing the right thing letting Tony have this, especially now that the machine was offline; the promise Tony had given him not to try to run was up. 

But Steve had meant what he said, Tony had done good work.  Besides, Steve was concerned with how thin he was.  If Tony was hungry, he would feed him, especially since he wasn't sure if Tony would get back to the hospital in time for dinner.

“We can’t eat anywhere public,” Steve added, before Tony could get his hopes too high.  There were still the conditions of Tony’s release to consider, and the fact that he was a flight risk.  “But... I can take you home with me so we’re out of Hank’s hair.”  He didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid if they stuck around long enough for Jan to arrive, that she’d be on Tony’s side once it came time to take him back to the asylum.  He didn’t think she’d go as far as to help Tony run, but it was a scene he’d rather avoid all together.  He didn’t particularly want to take Tony to his apartment, but besides renting a motel room by the hour, it was the easiest solution.

Tony looked faintly shocked.  “That’s fine with me.”

“Good.” 

 

\---

 

Steve was a little embarrassed by the state of his living space once he’d led Tony inside.  Somehow it was empty and messy at the same time, most of the clutter coming from old newspapers and not much else.  Normally he’d pick up after himself, but with the crisis and all, he just hadn’t gotten around to it.

He cleared off the comfortable easy chair and motioned for Tony to have a seat.  “The couch has a hole under one of the seats,” he cautioned.  Steve knew he could and should replace it, but it seemed like a waste when two thirds of it was fine.

“Can I get you something to drink?  Water?  Or milk?”  Steve offered as Tony looked around.  He had coffee, too, but he didn’t want to bring Tony back to the hospital wired.

Tony shook his head, passing by the easy chair and heading to Steve’s one indulgence, the one thing in here nearly as old as Steve was, the wooden radio cabinet in the corner.  It was a far fancier model than anything he’d ever had growing up.  As a kid, he’d eavesdropped outside of other people’s apartments to listen in while his mother had been unable to afford a working radio of their own. 

“You haven’t plugged this in yet, have you?”  Tony asked.

“The lady I picked it up from said it didn’t work.” 

“Well, don’t.  The capacitors are probably dried out.  It might be too much to hope that the damage hasn’t been done already, but hopefully no one else has tried it.”

“I already have a radio that works,” Steve said as he went to go find some takeout menus.  “We’ll have to order out, I don’t have anything here.”

“Your radio probably works beautifully,” Tony said, turning away from the cabinet.  “But it doesn’t sound the same, does it?” 

Steve had to agree with that, but he didn’t want to encourage Tony to take the radio apart, so he tried to keep them on track.  “Do you know what you want?”

“Anything.”  There was less hesitation this time than when he asked about breakfast and lunch, but it was still the same answer.  Steve probably wouldn’t have thought much of it if it wasn’t for the cornered look Tony had gotten the first time he’d asked about it.

“Pizza or Korean?” Steve asked, picking two menus at random.

“Korean.”

Tony had been pretty consistent about that, too.  It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but he needed limited options.  It was bizarre.  Steve was quickly learning Tony wasn’t shy, at least not normally, and the fact he had asked for dinner at all meant he wasn’t afraid of imposing.  This didn’t seem like it should be a problem for Tony.  And Steve shouldn’t push him.  He’d been up and working over twelve hours, and the man wasn’t used to working at all.  

“Tony, come here and look at the menu and decide.” 

Tony glanced up from the radio,  a small wrinkle between his brows and slight frown on his face.  Steve felt guilty about pressing, but the doctor hadn’t said anything about this.  Did they know about this hang up and didn’t think it was important enough to mention?  Did they not notice?  He remembered, briefly, Tony’s hesitance when they met at the hospital. He’d asked if he’d had a choice, like he thought he was being pressed into service. Steve understood that some people were too unstable to be allowed to make their own choices, but it didn’t seem right for Tony.

There were a lot of things that seemed wrong about Tony’s behavior.  

He tried to push the doubt aside.  Just because he was starting to like Tony a little didn’t mean he knew how to diagnose him better than his doctors did.

Tony took the menu from him and looked at it for a little while.  “What are you getting?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve said, hoping Tony would choose something for himself. 

Tony handed the menu back to him.  “Get double.”

Well.  So much for that.

 

\---

 

Somehow they’d ended up talking motorcycles over spicy pork riblets and a mountain of side dishes Steve couldn’t name if he tried.  Tony knew a lot about motorcycles.  When he found out Steve didn’t have a computer, Tony used Steve’s phone to show him pictures of bikes that had come out after his time, eager to show him the evolution of the Harley Davidson. 

“I still like the knuckleheads best.”

Tony snorted.  “Why am I not surprised?  You haven’t even tried a twincam, any twincam, to see how it handles.”

“The one I used handled just fine,” Steve said, not sullen at all.  “Have you ever tried a knucklehead?”

“Of course I have,” Tony said, snaring another riblet with the complimentary little wooden chopsticks and dumping it on his plate., “And I am telling you, Steve, the carburetor is dead and you should let it die.”

Steve stuck with the plastic fork.  “I don’t care.”  He’d accepted a lot of unnecessary improvements in his life already.  He was allowed to be stubborn about some of them. 

“Fine, be that way,” Tony said.  “But you’re going to have a hell of a time getting the ‘45 I know you’re  after.  They’re collectibles now, and there aren’t a whole lot left.  I doubt you’ll find anything but a project bike for under ten grand.”

“We’ll see,” Steve said.  He knew ten grand wasn’t as much as it had been in his day, but the thought of that kind of money still made his heart stop a little.  It must have made it to his face, because Tony’s eyes were laughing at him.

“You know what would help you find one?”  Tony asked.

“What?”

“A computer.”

Steve scowled.

 

\---

 

It’s a trap.

_They’re on a flying bomb.  The only hope is to jump.  He reaches for Bucky._

_He slips.  Bucky pushes him.  It happens so fast.  Either way, he’s lost his grip._

_“_ Bucky! _” he screams, but he’s free falling, and the wind steals his cry.  He’s still reaching, as if he still can grab hold of Bucky if he tries._

_Bucky needs to let go, why isn’t he letting go?_

_The sky lights up, red and orange and black, and Steve loses sight of him.  Red hot heat washes over his body as the shockwave punches all the air out of his lungs.  Things are eerily silent after that, the roar of the wind quiet even as it continues to rip at Steve’s body._

_For a moment, he can’t comprehend what’s happened.  For a moment, he expects to see Bucky and the plane fly out of the black cloud._

_But it’s an explosion and Bucky is gone forever._

_The world is growing dim around the the edges as Steve struggles and fails to make sense of it.  He can’t breathe._

_Icy water hits his face, and he opens his eyes._

 

Tony was staring at him, wide eyed, a few feet away.  His hand was dripping water.

Steve reached up, wiping a few cold drops from his face, his heart still racing, his hands aching for the weight of his shield.  “You woke me?” 

“It sounded like a nightmare,” Tony said.  “But we disabled the device.  Maybe--”

“It wasn’t the device.”   As much as Steve wanted it to have been the device, deep down, he’d known the answer wouldn’t be so easy.  “It...  Jan would have called if they picked up a signal.”

“Oh,” Tony said.

That was when Steve noticed the electronic tracking anklet Tony had been wearing lying on the table in front of him.  It looked absolutely pristine.  How Tony had managed to get it off, much less how he managed to get it off without setting off the tamper alarm when he didn’t have any tools, was anyone’s guess.

Oh.

He supposed he should feel betrayed by it, but he couldn’t quite manage it.  Steve had known Tony wanted to run, and Steve had let himself fall asleep at some point.  He was lucky he'd woken up while Tony was still there. 

… _it was a stupid suicidal move, and it was useless, completely useless, all that time in the war and he died for no reason...._   Steve shivered.

No -- Tony woke him.  He hadn't woken up on his own.  Tony had given up his own chance to run to try and help.  

Steve could see the tension coiled tight in Tony’s muscles, still ready to run.  “Tony...”  He remembered Tony’s promise from this morning -- he wouldn’t try to run until the job was finished.  That was why he had stayed.  To keep his word.

_You know it’s stupid to make promises you can’t keep during a war, but you did it anyway, didn’t you?  You promised--_

“Steve?”  Tony’s voice made Steve scrub away some of the moisture in his eyes so he could clear his vision.

“We...we should get going.  It’s probably late,” Steve said, because he was still alive, and he still had responsibilities.

Stevel felt terrible when the tension in Tony’s muscles drained away, when he saw Tony give up the idea of running in that moment.  “Right,” Tony said.

Steve knew he shouldn’t feel bad about stopping him, even if it took a nightmare to do it.  Tony needed to go back to the hospital.  He needed to get well again.  Especially after what Steve had seen over the course of the day.  Even though most of it had gone over his head, he could tell Tony was just as brilliant as Jan had said.  If Tony could be helped, the world would be better for it. 

“I’m not worried,” Tony said, and even though Steve hadn’t known him long, it was easy to tell it was a lie.  “You’ll be back for me.  There’s still a nightmare making terrorist on the loose.  You’ll need me.”

That was when Steve decided.  “I will see you again, Tony.  One way or another, I’ll come visit you.”

Tony looked like he’d just been thrown a lifeline.  “You will?”  The hope was so fragile in his voice. 

This was the least Steve could do.  Tony had made one request of him, and it really wasn’t that unreasonable.  “I will.” 

Steve thought it might be nice just to talk to him.  He didn’t really have anyone else talk to.   Like Tony, he didn’t have any friends who were going to be visiting him.

They were gone.


End file.
